One of the horror genre's "most widely read critics" (Rue Morgue # 68), "an accomplished film journalist" (Comic Buyer's Guide #1535), and the award-winning author of Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002), John Kenneth Muir, presents his blog on film, television and nostalgia, named one of the Top 100 Film Studies Blog on the Net.

Dragos
has experimented on him and accelerated his metabolism to one thousand times
the equivalent of human normal speed.
This is part of Dragos’ plot to develop an “ultimate weapon,”
invisibility.

Professor
Parsafoot (Charlie Dell) creates a device that can speed up Jason’s metabolism,
and allow him to locate Matt. But he
only has 90 seconds to use it, before he too becomes trapped – permanently – at
that accelerated rate of existence.

Jason
is successful bringing back Matt, and the grateful man informs him of another
secret. Peepo – who is still missing –
is under Dragos’ control.

“The
Disappearing Man” is a knock-off of a classic third season Star Trek episode: “Wink
of An Eye.”

In that narrative, as you
may recall, the Enterprise visited a planet called Scalos wherein a
civilization was dying.Its few survivors,
including Queen Deela, had been affected by strange factors in their
water.

The result was that their
metabolism accelerated to an unbelievable rate, making them impossible to see
at our speed or our level of vision.

The
story saw Captain Kirk accelerated in similar fashion (thanks to a drop of
water in his coffee cup), and the neat visuals depicted him moving at normal
speed through a world -- the corridors of the Enterprise -- frozen, as if in
amber.

“The
Disappearing Man” features the same sort of personal acceleration, vis-à-vis
the missing cadet, Matt Prentiss, and also shows the “real world” in the same
fashion; as so slow that movement is undetectable.

In “Wink of an Eye,” the Scalosians could
communicate, but their words were so fast, they sounded like insects buzzing
about.“The Disappearing Man” retains
that concept as well. I wonder how James Doohan felt acting in an episode with such an obvious Trekkie antecedent?

Even
casting aside these similarities, “The Disappearing Man” has some logical
problems. For example, Jason only has
ninety seconds or he will be lost, accelerated.
The machine that can bring him back, however, is broken at the last
second, leaving Dr. Parsafoot to attempt something else. The question is: why is this a crisis? Why not just repair the machine and send
somebody else (Nicole, perhaps…) after Jason, just the way he went after the
accelerated Prentiss?

“The
Disappearing Man” plays a lot like a budget/time-saver. Although there is a
guest star, John Berwick, all the action occurs on standing sets, not new
planet sets with alien creatures, and there are no new significant outer space
visuals, either, just some footage of a Seeker from Space Academy (1977).

Even
the plot is thrifty, having been imported directly from Star Trek.

In "Life Begins at 300," another segment of Space Academy (written by Jack Paritz), a haughty cadet from Yellow Squad, Gina Corey (actress Paula Wagner) warns Commander Gampu (Jonathan Harris) that he should abort a Seeker mission to collect the mineral Zolium from a distant planet. She thoughtfully quotes "Stanley Crane's paper on Zolium Distribution," but Gampu doesn't consider the mission particularly dangerous.

Unfortunately, he's proven wrong, and Paul's life support badge malfunctions while he's collecting the Zolium on the planet surface. Worse, Peepo malfunctions in the atmosphere when sent out to save the cadet (with, of all things, an inflatable raft...). Though Paul is finally saved, Gampu now has serious questions about his own leadership. Was Gina right? Did he underestimate the danger?"There's a very old saying: you can't teach old dogs new tricks," he bemoans. Then, Gampu tenders his resignation from the Academy and orders Gentry to transmit it to Earth.But Gina, who has constructed a device called "an extractor" to collect Zolium, also fails her mission, and it's up to Gampu -- with his 300 year old wisdom and experience -- to save her. He does so, and his faith in himself and his capabilities is restored. "We all need the experience of age, which I have, and the exuberance of youth, which you have," he tells the thankful Gina.

The most interesting aspect of "Life Begins at 300" is that it's the first episode thus far to include Jonathan Harris (Gampu) in more than a supporting role. He does well in the role. I like that he can be both stern and gentle, and that he is alwys driving the cadets to be better. Gampu is a far cry from Dr. Smith on Lost in Space. He is a great elder spokesman for the human race and its values, and I like that Harris was given an opportunity to reveal another side of his persona.

I also just have to note how "Life Begins at 300" fits into that wonderful sci-fi TV convention: the mineral hunt.In so many science fiction TV series of the 1960s and 1970s, the hunt for a rare mineral resource was the plot of the day. Dilithium was in short supply inStar Trek ("Mudd's Women,") along with Ritalin ("Requiem for Methuselah.") On Space:1999, the moonbase desperately needed titanium ("The Metamorph") and tiranium ("Catacombs of the Moon.") On Battlestar Galactica, it was the valuable substance "tylium" that had to be mined by the Ovions in "Saga of a Space World." Here, on Space Academy, Zolium is used to "regenerate life support badges." That's an intriguing background note that helps us understand how the seemingly miraculous future world exists.

I suppose it makes abundant sense that sci-fi TV series would focus on this aspect of outer space: ideally, we hope it's a realm brimming with the resources we require to sustain ourselves. But that remains to be seen. So when do we start mining the asteroid belt (and move intoOutland territory?) I hope it happens soon.

Thanks to 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1968, designers had largely outgrown the "rocket" and "flying saucer" style of spaceship, and moved on to some amazing work for the disco decade. The seventies brought us the utilitarian, modular Eagles of 1999, the haunted house in space, the Cygnus, of The Black Hole, the new (and improved) Star Trek ships in time for The Motion Picture, and even bio-organic ships, like the one seen in Alien.

So far as spaceship designs go, I don't think any other decade, at least so far, can hold a candle to the 1970s.

Below are a few of my favorites from 1970 - 1979. How many do you remember? (And heck, which ones did I forget?)

I first saw Explorers at the Royal Theater in Bloomfield, New Jersey, in
1985, when I was fifteen years old. Even
then, I understood a simple fact about the film’s drama and structure. The film’s
trio of young protagonists -- so open, enterprising, imaginative, and full of
hope -- deserved a journey that honored their good character. They deserved an odyssey like the one Exeter
teased in This Island Earth (1951) and which is excerpted explicitly in Explorers.

They
deserved an opportunity to interface with a “vast universe…filled with wonders.”

Instead,
this triumvirate reached the stars only to find that even in space, it is
impossible to escape TV reruns and baby-boomer nostalgia.

“I’m
afraid my wounds can never be healed.”

Bullied
at school, young Ben Crandall (Hawke) dreams of flying at night.

One
night, he dreams of flying over a landscape that transforms into a high-tech
circuit board. When Ben shares his notes
about this dream with his friend, Wolfgang (River Phoenix) and they are put
into a computer, Ben realizes that another intelligence is communicating with
him.

Along
with another boy, Darren (Jason Presson), who comes from “the wrong side of the
tracks Ben and Wolfgang experiment with the alien technology, creating a force
bubble that can mitigate forces of acceleration, gravity and inertia.

In
other words, the bubble is a force-field of sorts, protecting any object or
person that happens to be inside it. Ben
and the other boys resolve to build a spaceship, and visit the local junkyard
to create a small craft, which they christen The Thunder Road. It is built from
a Tilt-a-whirl.

After
a second dream, which provides information about life-support inside their
ship, Ben and the others take to the stars to visit their benefactors.

They
leave Earth, and a nosy police man (Dick Miller) behind, and travel to space to
reckon with some very strange alien beings…

“It
could be something we can’t even imagine.”

One
brand of Spielberg’s aesthetic, as represented by E.T. (1982), and to a
lesser extent, Jaws (1975), Close Encounters (1978),
Poltergeist (1982), Gremlins (1984), Invaders
from Mars (1986) and Super 8 (2011), is clearly on view
in Explorers’
first two acts.

Like
some of those films, this one involves precocious but disillusioned youngsters
who, through a surprising connection with the supernatural/paranormal,
re-discover magic and wonder in their often-disappointing lives.

As
we have seen in some Spielberg films (and the films of his contemporaries), “this
boy’s life” in Explorers is one in which the traditional middle-class family
has failed the enterprising child. Darren’s mother is dead, and his father’s
attentions are elsewhere, even though he lives in suburbia (also the setting of
E.T.
and others). Ben, meanwhile, seems to
live in a world where parents are absent. At school, he is the victim of a bully named
Jackson. These views of childhood can be compared with instances of parental death
or divorce in Super 8 and E.T., respectively.

A
key location in all these films is the central
boy’s bedroom, a sanctuary which he decorates with products/items that
reflect his imaginative nature. In this case, we see that Ben has a poster of It
Came from Outer Space (1953) on his bedroom wall, and that his disk is
littered with Marvel Comics. And playing
on the TV while he sleeps is George Pal’s War of the Worlds.

Thus
we can extrapolate that Ben has escaped an unhappy (or at least unsatisfying)
family life by escaping into his bedroom…and the fantasy worlds offered in
popular entertainment.

Because
Spielberg, Tobe Hooper, and Joe Dante are all boomers, they tend to imbue their
adolescent characters with a love for older
science fiction films, even though it is not, necessarily, a realistic
quality. I was a kid at the same time as Elliott or Ben, or Billy (the
1970s-1980s), and I was into Star Wars, Space:1999, Planet of the Apes
and Star
Trek, not of the productions which get call-backs here: The
Thing (1951), The Day the Earth Stood Still
(1951), War of the Worlds (1953), and Forbidden Planet (1956). I made it my mission to see all those films,
of course, and I admire them all tremendously, but they were not bedroom poster-worthy
to my generation, if that makes sense.

Therefore,
it is not too difficult to understand that these tributes to older films -- in E.T.,
Explorers and the like -- represent the filmmakers’ reckoning with their own childhoods. They are
re-imagining their own youth in these 1980s films, and that sometimes adds a
self-indulgent quality to the art. It would be like me making a film about kids
today, and decorating their bedrooms with Space:1999 (1975 – 1977) or Battlestar
Galactica (1978 – 1979) posters. Fun as an allusion? Sure. Realistic? Not particularly.

Ironically,
in terms of science fiction movies, the 1980s works of Spielberg and his
contemporaries -- all of whom I admire very much -- actually represent a
paradigm shift away from 1950s and 1960s genre works.

In
older films, like Forbidden Planet or even Kubrick’s 2001, explorers in space
and time voyage to the edge of reality, to the frontier, and are challenged to
recognize new ideas there. By contrast, in some 1980s films brandishing the Spielberg
aesthetic, explorers in space and time encounter the paranormal and find worlds
and beings not that challenge their concept of the universe or their belief
system, but that bring them emotional
comfort; that reinforce their imaginative/fantastic belief systems.

Elliott needs a friend, and E.T. teaches him how
to connect to others. The kids in Explorers visit the stars, and meet there
alien children who steal their father’s car/spaceship, and quake in fear from
menacing parental figures.

The
message? Kids and parents are alike all over.

The
aliens’ reason for not visiting Earth in Explorers is even dramatized in
terms of baby boomer cinema. The aliens show the human children a montage of
humans treating aliens badly, including imagery from 20,000 Million Miles to Earth
(1967), The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951), and so on. The
sub-textual message is that aliens can’t visit Earth because our parents ruined everything, just as
they ruined our lives.

Accordingly,
Explorers
lionizes innocence…so much so that alien beings are not different creatures to
reckon with, but mirrors that validate a childhood perspective on life. It’s the Peter Pan syndrome. Also in the
film, an older policeman, played by Dick Miller recalls that he once dreamed of
going to the stars, but that those dreams receded as he grew up. Again, a
message is wrought: adults need not apply for the magical Explorers space program.
Only the very young, and the very innocent, may board this flight.

Apparently,
in space we can only expect to meet beings who will fill our empty spots, not
beings who will challenge us to grow, and evolve, and become better than we
are.

Clearly,
this idea can work beautifully, and even feel magical on occasion, as E.T.
and Close
Encounters aptly demonstrate. They are great films.

But
Explorers
seems to tread a step too far in the same direction, suggesting that
imagination, tenacity, and optimism will be rewarded only with a world of
perpetual boomer references or allusions, one where Ed Sullivan, Mr. Ed, Bugs
Bunny and Tarzan are always on the tube, always repeating their greatest hits. Explorers reduces all the wonders of
the universe to a closed-loop of 1950s nostalgia, and therefore undercuts the very
message of great films like Forbidden Planet, or even This
Island Earth.

The
scenes here with the goofy, TV-quoting aliens, truly betray the film’s
beautiful first half, which strikes a deep chord with me on a personal level in
some regard. Specifically, much of the early portions of Explorers involve the
building of a spaceship out of junk and spare parts. A tilt-a-whirl ride is the
basis for the spaceship that Ben, Wolfgang, and Darren build, but other pieces
are added on, and that little ramshackle spaceship is a wondrous thing: a
manifestation of childhood imagination.

I
remember very clearly when I was a young man, watching as two friends built --
out of whatever they could find -- a raft that they hoped to sail down a nearby
river. I remember seeing them in the
neighborhood one day, spare parts on their backs, bags of snacks in their
hands, as they prepared for the launch of their “ship.” I don’t know if the raft ever proved sea
worthy, but I have always remembered their joy at the possibility of building a
vessel that could carry them…away, to the unknown.

In
ways profound and wondrous, the first half of Explorers captures that
youthful feeling of assembling a dream; of building with your own hands a
vehicle that could alter your destiny and carry you to new horizons. The early scenes
in the film that find the youths experimenting with the alien force bubble and
constructing their own ride to the stars remain magical, and meaningful.
Indeed, they are so compelling, well-wrought and charmingly performed that the
film’s final act plays as all the more disappointing. If you watch the film closely, you can’t help
but love Ben, Wolfgang and Darren.

The
Thunder Road (the name of the ship, provided by Darren) and her crew ultimately
deserved a journey of discovery and wonder, not one that found the final
frontier was just…old TV.

The
promise -- as Ben clearly enunciates it -- is to “go where no man has gone
before” (not just a TV reference, but a promise of new territory explored), and
see something that humans “can’t even imagine,” something that could qualify as
“the greatest thing ever.”

Ask
yourself? Do the Looney Tunes alien fit the bill? As the greatest thing ever?
As something unimaginable?

If
not, what could the aliens have looked like instead? Perhaps they could have been being who
understood that a dream is best when shared and when built, piece-by-piece with
your own hands.

In
the film, Ben and Wolfgang (and eventually Lori and Darren) dream of the technology
they need to touch the stars. They share a kind of “hive dream” universe, and
yet the childish, bug-eyed aliens we meet in the finale don’t seem capable of
having sent these dreams to them. That’s an important disconnect in the film.

Explorers needed aliens who were more like
teachers, or benevolent parents, perhaps, than like Bob Hope-quoting bug-eyed juveniles. Why? So
Ben and the others would see that life wasn’t just disappointment after
disappointment, but the possibility of them building a brave new world
together.

Explorers also hasn’t aged well in terms of
its treatment of Lori (Amanda Peterson). I realize that the film is thirty
years old, but Lori is a virtual non-character in the film. She is a prize for
Ben to “win” at the end of his adventure, and a character who never gets to
ride in the Thunder Road, or visit the stars.

Even
when I was fifteen -- thirty years ago -- I knew that was wrong. Girls dream big too and possess great
imagination, so Lori should have been a major character in the film, not just
Ben’s reward for reaching the stars. I trust the anticipated remake of the film
will rectify this problem.

Before
Explorers,
Joe Dante was on something of a roll, having directed Piranha (1978), The
Howling (1981), and Gremlins (1984), all terrific films
in my estimation. I have read that Explorers went into production,
however, without the team settling on an ending. I’m afraid that the absence of
a carefully-plotted, coherent third-act shows. It handicaps the film. The film’s
first half -- while soaked in Boomer self-indulgence -- nonetheless captures
the wonders of childhood, and the amazing feeling of building your destiny, one
spare part at a time. The last half of
the film, which wallows in pop culture kitsch, is a misstep for the ages.

To
misquote Exeter from This Island Earth, I’m afraid Explorers’
inconsistent approach to its narrative is a grievous wound, one that “will never be healed.”

About John

award-winning author of 27 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).

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"...some of the best writing about the genre has been done by John Kenneth Muir. I am particularly grateful to him for the time and attention he's paid to things others have overlooked, under-appreciated and often written off. His is a fan's perspective first, but with a critic's eye to theme and underscore, to influence and pastiche..." - Chris Carter, creator of The X-Files, in the foreword to Horror Films FAQ (October 2013).

"Hands down, John Kenneth Muir is one of the finest critics and writers working today. His deep analysis of contemporary American culture is always illuminating and insightful. John's film writing and criticism is outstanding and a great place to start for any budding writer, but one should also examine his work on comic books, TV, and music. His weighty catalog of books and essays combined with his significant blog production places him at the top of pop culture writers. Johns work is essential in understanding the centrality of culture in modern society." - Professor Bob Batchelor, cultural historian and Executive Director of the James Pedas Communication Center at Thiel College (2014).

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